None So Blind
by Roscuro
Summary: Most trainers, losing their only Pokémon to the increasingly less inept Team Rocket, would be helpless to save it.  Danu is not most trainers: she has an unusual gift that she must use to recover her Pokémon and, if she's fortunate, save the world.
1. Call Me Danu

A/N: It's probably not advisable to start another chapter fic when I am clearly so woefully inadequate to the task of keeping to a decent time schedule with just one. But I like this story idea, so I'm going to go ahead and post it. (And rather than slowly building up to a shameless advertisement for my other fic, I'm just going to do it. Check out Evolution, please!)

This fic is set in the Johto region, but not based on the GSC games. If I may nerd out for a moment, Pokémon phylogeography would probably result in more differences between each region than just the species types, so as a minor part of that precept I've decided that Johto Pokémon names will be different than Kanto ones. Let me explain. Johto names will be Native American style – long and descriptive of species and personality – but commonly abbreviated. Kanto names will be single words descriptive of species. Remember this – it will be significant later.

P.S. There was no beta for this; let me know if I need one.

P.P.S. Disclaimer: I pinky promise that I don't own Pokémon.

* * *

><p>Prologue<p>

Call Me Danu

* * *

><p>The front entrance to the newly constructed Ecruteak Stadium bustled, a seemingly endless torrent of people pouring in through the woefully inadequate pair of double doors that led to the massive rows of stands. Indeed, one did not see people in this human flood; one saw colors: flashes of blue, green, black, red, white, yellow, purple. Faces were unimportant; motion was everything. The stands were already halfway filled, though the tourneys were not set to start for another hour; people had shown up from all over for the grand opening of Johto's first region-wide Pokémon Battle Stadium. The sunlight was strong and the excitement of the crowd palpable.<p>

The back entrance, conversely, was shaded by thick groves of trees and an overhang of the Stadium. It was open to the outside and was guarded by a single man and a series of turnstiles, only one of which was operable. A sporadic trickle of trainers entered this area, conversed with the guard, passed through the gate, and disappeared underneath the skeletal undersides of the stands, into the bowels of the Stadium. Surrounding the battlefield on the ground-level were small holding rooms, where trainers and Pokémon would wait and ready themselves until the front wall of the little compartment split open and their battle began. These rooms and their occupants were silent, save for the dull intruding roar of the amassing spectators in the stands above. Tension and sheer competitiveness sparked through the thin walls like electric pulses.

By the time the announcer began to rev up the crowd with indistinct, rumbling shouts of enthusiasm, the back entrance had seen no arriving competitors for almost a quarter of an hour. The guard, glancing at his watch and carefully scanning the panorama of forest beyond the overhang, heaved a sigh and leaned against the only working turnstile. He immediately jumped to attention, however, when one last trainer and Pokémon appeared as if out of nowhere, both striding boldly towards him.

Everything about the trainer, a lanky girl with pretty features and a graceful stride, was pale: fair skin stippled with light freckles, sun-bleached hair pulled into an ineffective ponytail, white denim shorts into which a white, lace-edged shirt was tucked. The only other colors about her came from her reflective black sunglasses and her Pokémon, a sapphire and scarlet Sneasel who walked – or, rather, strutted – at her side. The girl's hand rested lightly on the dark furred head; the stark contrast in color between the two was striking. The trainer's footsteps, made soft by her woven tan sandals, were confident, and the Sneasel made a contented noise as they moved toward the lone jumpsuit-clad guard, who now hovered alertly by the turnstile.

The man, ex-military to judge from his bearing and haircut, glanced down at his tanned hands, in which a worn clipboard crammed with list-covered papers was clenched. Skimming the lists quickly, he grimaced at the approaching girl and moved to block her way with his (not inconsiderable) bulk. The girl took two more brazen steps before her Sneasel grunted warningly and she halted. "Sorry," the guard grunted in the tones of the professionally detached. "This is the competitors' entrance to the Ecruteak Stadium. You'll have to go in the front doors – and just to warn you, they don't allow Pokémon to be out of their balls in the stands."

"Thank you for your concern, sir," the girl said brightly, smiling and tilting her face up so that the man could see his own reflection in her wraparound sunglasses, "but I _am_ a competitor. I'm registered for the Singles Tourney, Levels 50 and Under." Her hand soothingly rubbed at the scarlet feather on her Sneasel's head, the shortness of the plume an indication that the Pokémon was female.

The guard, a skeptical eyebrow lifting into his russet buzz cut, consulted the papers again. His opinion apparently not swayed in the matter, he balanced the clipboard on the top of the gate and glared at the girl with piercing hazel eyes that had been known to make grown men cower. The girl's smile, however, did not even falter, though a low growl began rumbling in the Sneasel's throat as she flexed her claws and stepped in front of her trainer protectively. The guard frowned. "There is only one competitor due to arrive still, a Daniel Addis of Blackthorn City."

"That's me," the girl volunteered, waving with the fingers of one hand.

The guard's other eyebrow rose to join the first in the man's hairline. "You're…Daniel." The statement was flat and the disbelief in the words was thrown out like punches.

"My dad wanted a son," the girl explained amiably, quite unfazed. "Friends call me Danu."

Silence. The man's gaze bored impotently into the girl's sunglasses and saw far too little, and then fought with the blunt red stare of the Sneasel and saw far too much. For lack of a better option, the guard nodded sharply and marched to the side, letting the girl and her Pokémon pass into the Stadium. Clearly satisfied with these results, the Sneasel made a purring noise, almost a chuckle.

Almost immediately afterwards, as if to shoo the Sneasel away before she could say something rude, this Danu started forward again, cautiously pushing her way through the moving bars of the turnstile. Once free, she strode towards the underbelly, the Sneasel at her side once more letting out occasional – apparently triumphant – snickers of _Sneas sneas-sel_.

As the guard watched, the Sneasel shielded her eyes from the harsh fluorescent lighting that illuminated the bare hallways twisting underneath the arena but did not hesitate, simply chattering away in the language of Pokémon. Likewise, the unpleasant light didn't deter the girl, who walked with those unerringly silent, sure footsteps. The pair disappeared within moments, as abruptly as they had turned up in the first place.


	2. Are You Ready?

A/N: The following chapter contains a battle scene that I typed, realized wouldn't really work that way, rearranged, and edited. However, I am not so sure that it all makes sense chronologically now; I'm familiar enough with what I want the story to say that I probably missed details. So, if you, Reader, could keep an eye out for things that don't really make sense and then tell me, I would appreciate that. Also, please don't judge me if the mistakes are embarrassingly obvious. You're the best.

P.S. As I said before, this fic is beta-less at the moment. So let me know if I need one.

* * *

><p>Chapter 1<p>

Are You Ready?

* * *

><p>It took a while to find an unoccupied holding room, and all the while the general ruckus of the crowd grew exponentially. I had not expected the tournament to be this large; the thrill of the crowd was quite intoxicating. My heart began to race in time to the cheers.<p>

"Come on, Danu," Frost urged, seizing my hand when she deemed me moving too slowly. Frost – or, as her traditional name read, Frost on the Wings of Birds – always loved a good battle, and was probably more excited now than the rest of the tournament-goers combined. I stumbled down the hallway, towed by the impatient Sneasel, until she skidded to a halt and almost tripped me up. "There's a green light above this door," she said critically as I staggered around her, trying to keep my balance. "That means that it's unoccupied, right?"

Before I could answer, Frost pushed open the door, yanked me in after her, and slammed it shut with all her manic might. The roar of the crowd was deadened. Her paw finally let my hand loose and I was slung forward until I hit the far wall with my shoulder.

I found myself with my back to the wall, but before I could approach my Pokémon to attempt to calm her down or something equally futile, warmth bathed my face and a whirring sound started from the ceiling. A light. No, a projection. I walked a few steps and turned back to the wall. Frost came to my side and nuzzled my hand quietly, but I could feel her vibrating with energy.

"It's a tourney tree," Frost exclaimed, surprised. "Fancy." She'd been in enough tournaments to be familiar with the chart, but they'd only been available in the big ones and never in individual holding rooms. "This is impressive; but, of course, this _is_ the grand opening of the largest battle stadium Johto has ever seen. They want to make people want to register for the tournament with cool hardware like this," she added knowledgably.

"All right then, fancy pants. Read it for me if you know so much," I said, amused.

"I don't wear pants," Frost corrected me absentmindedly. The sharp clack of her talons sounded on the floor as she approached the projection, and her claws tapped the wall contemplatively. She was able to sheathe them but did so only when absolutely necessary; a rare infection in her paws as a pup had decimated the sheathing and made it very painful to retract them. "Well, what do you know? We're in the first pairing, us versus this guy named Theo and his Golduck."

"We must be paired alphabetically for the first rounds. I'm so sorry, Frost. I know how much you love waiting."

"If by love you mean detest," she scoffed. "But basically, we can expect this wall to open at any minute, thrusting us into the midst of a whirling vortex of battling frenzy. From which we will emerge victorious, of course."

"Of course."

"Any minute," the Sneasel purred. She sliced experimentally at nothing in particular with her claws, the air hissing around them – terrified, I should think – as she did so. Seemingly pleased with her reflexes, she sat on the floor with a sigh and a thump. I could practically feel her anticipation making the concrete beneath my feet tremble.

"Any. Minute."

I walked forward and nudged Frost with one foot. "Alternately, any minute now you could explode with excitement," I pointed out mildly. "Or that wall could burst into flame from you staring at it too hard. Or –" A pneumatic hiss cut me off and a flood of sound hit me like a slap to the face. "Or the wall could open, I suppose." Cheers, jeers, catcalls, screams, and yells tumbled about us, growing progressively louder as the wall slid gently apart with a quiet grating and the rumble of mechanics.

"All right, Danu. It's show time," Frost whispered, her voice tense with anticipation, as she grabbed my hand again and dragged me forward confidently. As I passed through the newly open doorway, feeling the harsh lights of the stadium strike my face, the ground beneath my sandals changed from concrete to a loose sand that shifted under my weight with every step. All the better for dramatic battles, I supposed, so the earth could form dust clouds or be scattered in large waves.

A low chuckle made its way around the arena at the sight of Frost bodily hauling me along behind her, and I heard the announcer quickly play on the amusement of the crowd: "Just look at that Sneasel go! She sure seems excited about this tournament, folks! But what's this? Her trainer doesn't seem as enthusiastic! So why don't we give Miss Addis, who's come all the way here from Blackthorn City, a bit of encouragement?" Oh, he was good; to judge from the immediate uproar from the stands, Frost and I were rapidly becoming favorites.

The stadium lights became even more intense as I stepped up onto the battle platform, following Frost's lead since she leapt up first, still firmly attached to my hand. "Stay here," she demanded pushily, tempering this attitude by giving my hand a pat – which she did often as a reassuring gesture, careful to avoid drawing blood with her claws – and then dropping it. "I'm going in."

I smiled at her indulgently. She could be as sassy as she wanted on the battlefield, after all. It was how she got the edge in the fight.

The announcer was shouting again, introducing the contestants to the eager audience, which was pleased enough to make our acquaintances, to judge from its cries. My opponents were the young Mr. Theo Avery from Olivine City and his (apparently famous for winning five local tournaments in a row) Golduck.

Frost was unimpressed. "Hey, flatfoot!" she called out derisively. "Try not to trip on your overgrown flippers while we fight, okay? I want this battle to last for a bit before I knock you out!" This was not a great display of sportsmanship on the Sneasel's part, but the rules of conduct didn't really apply to Pokémon unless they attacked prematurely or excessively.

"We'll see!" the Golduck called back, clearly up for a challenge but lacking the talent for proper badinage. Frost scoffed dismissively in response and again made the air sing with the swipe of her claws. There must have been a microphone near her somewhere, because the whistle was amplified and echoed around the arena; the audience was suitably impressed.

A loud alarm, brassy and deep, sounded with the effect of immediately plunging the crowd into silence. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up and knots of tension worked their way into my muscles uninvited – a bout of pre-battle nerves.

"All right, folks," the announcer commentated, the slight lilting accent of his voice demanding full attention. "It's the moment you've all been waiting for, the debut battle of the Ecruteak Pokémon Battle Stadium, where talented trainers from all over Johto have gathered to pit themselves and their Pokémon against each other in a magnificent clash of skill and power! Who will emerge victorious from this tournament? Let's find out! Our first battle will now commence: Daniel Addis versus Theo Avery! Each trainer is allowed one Pokémon; Addis has chosen her Sneasel and Avery has chosen his Golduck. The battle will continue until only one Pokémon is conscious, and that Pokémon will be declared the victor of the round." He paused to inhale after this impressively long speech, which he seemed to spin together without thought or breath, and then asked, "Trainers, are you ready?"

Theo, with a quiver rocking his pubescent tone, answered affirmatively, and I just nodded, sure that my voice would also reveal my nervousness. Frost was no doubt already prancing about with the victor's trophy in her mind, but I was less certain of the coming battles' outcomes. Everyone was capable of an unexpected move: a single, maybe simple, thing that could turn the tides of battle; it would never do to underestimate an opponent.

"We'll be fine," Frost said in a low voice, pitched just for my ears. She knew me far too well. "The Golduck's a pushover. He favors his right side and hasn't sharpened his claws recently. He's got a Quick Claw, but that's his only advantage, okay?"

The announcer, oblivious as most humans were to the language of Pokémon, spoke over any reply I might have made. "Folks! A lot of you came here from just as far as these trainers to see some quality battling! So the biggest question is – are _you_ ready?"

I suspected that the structural integrity of the stadium was compromised due to the resounding roar the audience managed to emit; it rumbled the earth beneath my feet and made my ears ring like a Hyper Beam had just been shot past them. Briefly, I wondered if one had and I had simply failed to notice. But then I had to focus on the battle, because somewhere nestled in the crowd's thunderous cries had been the announcer's permission to begin the battle.

"He's coming towards me with a Cross Chop! Damn that Quick Claw. I'm dodging," Frost rattled off each action swiftly and intensely as they occurred, like a professional auctioneer; she liked to commentate on battles when she fought them, saying that it helped her on a more logical level to respond appropriately to attacks, and it certainly did me no harm.

The Golduck, perplexed, demanded, "What the hell are you doing?" A spray of sand hit my sandaled feet as he skidded to a halt, having been successfully evaded. I made a quick motion with my right index finger: the hand code for the move Slash. I wanted to test our opponent's Defense before moving on to Special attacks if necessary. (Frost's Speed and Attack were phenomenal, but she wasn't the most powerful in the Special Attack department, so when we could avoid depending on her Ice Beam, we did. Moreover, an ice move against a water-type? – that would be a long battle.)

Frost did not acknowledge my command aloud, but instead launched herself straight into the offensive. "The Golduck missed. I strike!" The sound of her claws doing just that snagged the air and rent its way down.

I crooked two fingers down and flicked them lightly, an indication for my Sneasel to Bite her opponent. We had been using this system of hand signals for years to be more unpredictable in battle, and no one was yet the wiser. I suppose a fierce battle _was_ rather more interesting than the movements of my fingers.

Still recovering from the Slash attack, the Golduck was growling softly, mostly angry, but there was pain in his tone when he spoke, "That's it, Sneasel!" But whatever lackluster threat he was preparing to spout was interrupted by Frost's battle cry.

The sound was shrill but painfully intimidating; perfected in the depths of caves and designed to disorient and terrify prey, it made the blood curl and gave one the urge to find cover immediately. Any moves the Golduck instinctively made to protect himself from the Sneasel were for naught, as soon he was whimpering, Frost's fangs sunk deep into his flesh. I heard the scrabble of scales rubbing against her needle-like shoulder fur as he tried to pry her off and Mr. Theo Avery's frantic calls for him to knock her off.

It seemed like torture. In fact, before I discussed battle theory with Frost, I had assumed that forcing Pokémon to battle was cruel and barbaric. But she informed me – bluntly and with a tone that suggested she thought I was rather naïve – that Pokémon had tournaments of their own in the wild, and often they were much more violent than those of captured Pokémon since humans insisted on rules to govern their contests. "We would not," the Sneasel had explained to me gently as if I were a child, "stop fighting even if humans stopped directing us in battle. It's as much a sport for us as it is for you. Besides," she had added, patting my elbow soothingly, "since there are Pokémon Centers scattered about the region, there are no unfortunate consequences to losing. Just enjoy the adrenaline."

Frost was definitely feeling the adrenaline now; after the first few attacks are traded, the real battle began. "I let go and leap back! I wipe the blood off of my mouth."

Mr. Theo Avery called out to his Golduck to use Cross Chop, and the water-type shrieked out what must have been a Golduck battle cry, though it sounded more like he had been trodden on. Not nearly as impressive as Frost's had been, though in honesty it would be hard to measure up to hers.

Frost's clear voice rang out. "He comes at me! I jump to one side! He – ow! – manages to get in a blow with one hand." Worry for my Sneasel shot through me, but she would never forgive me if I broke the mood by asking if she was all right.

Mr. Theo Avery, his voice cracking with stress and puberty, told the Golduck to use Dig, probably hoping to capitalize on his Pokémon's Quick Claw. Bad attack choice, frankly. I responded by cupping my hand and making a scooping motion with it. Also Dig.

The Golduck acted first, making an unnecessary amount of noise and scattering sand clumsily. As soon as the earth stopped skittering about and the Golduck was well and truly underground, my Sneasel began her own excavation, neat and silent as her long claws dug into the soil like it was tissue. She forwent her usual stream-of-consciousness commentary for the sake of subtlety.

After a few moments during which the silence lengthened awkwardly, the Golduck emerged from the ground, screaming his same battle cry (and much to the same effect) as his webbed hands scraped at the earth with the rasp of sand against scale. He burst forward, away from me, his shriek fading with distance, and propelled himself a good distance towards where Frost had been before realizing that she wasn't there anymore.

At which point, of course, my Sneasel's claws sliced through the soil from below him with a much slighter sound, like a small stone being run down a blade. Giving no warning, she hurled herself at the Golduck, snarling fiercely, and knocked him to the ground with a combination of her negligible body mass and sheer power of will. He let out a startled squawk as his body thumped the ground forcefully.

Losing some self-control and failing to wait for his trainer to give a command, the Golduck let loose a Psybeam from the gem on his head. The psychic power abraded my ears like fingernails raked down a chalkboard; the hairs on my forearms and the back of my neck stood up uneasily, but the sound soon broke off with a choked wail as Frost bit him again – "I stop this _stupid_ flatfoot from making any other bad moves with Bite!" – her fangs grating unpleasantly across his uneven rows of scales. She hadn't waited for my command to attack, either, but at least she wasn't using a Psychic move on a dark-type Pokémon. The Golduck was clearly panicking, all considerations of type advantage abandoned.

It was time to finish this, and Frost agreed, to judge from the way I heard her mutter under her breath, "Don't worry, flatfoot. It'll be over soon." Her voice was uncharacteristically gentle and understanding, so I probably wasn't supposed to hear that.

The Golduck flinched. I drew a short line in the air with my finger, and Frost, with a low grunt and no further comment, Slashed.

The battle was over. Frost came to my side, betraying her post-battle fatigue with a slight drag of her feet as she walked. Her talons sifted through the sand in a way that she would never have tolerated if she was operating fully; a good fight was about the only way to burn off her incredible energy supply. Proud of her, I ran my fingers along the edges of her soft head feather lightly, the equivalent of scratching a Growlithe's stomach.

The announcer, who had been mercifully quiet up to this point – I had been to tournaments where I couldn't hear Frost for the constant, booming commentary of the guy – suddenly spoke up: "Well, folks, what a way to open a Stadium! The winner of this blistering battle is Daniel Addis and her Sneasel!"

The audience, of course, lost it, the resonance of their amassed cheers making me wince; I wished desperately it would not be unbecoming to cover my ears. Frost snatched up my hand, her claws digging into my skin but not enough to draw blood, and whispered, "Looks like that Avery fellow is storming out of here. A sore loser if I ever saw one. Oh, look, Nurse Joy!" And with that I was pulled off of the battlefield, the Sneasel's little paw clamped around my hand as she determinedly stalked towards outer edge of the arena, undoubtedly looking forward to meeting up with a medic and being healed before retiring to yet another holding room to wait for the next round.

This was typical. The announcer had just finished telling a humorous anecdote about the time he found a Weedle in his soup – probably stalling for time as all professionals do, by offering up personal history as fodder for laughter – and the crowd was chuckling politely. Again, typical, as much as a Weedle being in your soup was typical.

But then I heard something, a peculiar pitchy whine that made me ache behind the eyes in a way that suggested an impending headache, which was definitely not typical. "Do you hear that? That high drone?" I asked Frost as we walked, moving my free hand to rest atop her head; her hearing was sharper than mine and could triangulate far better, but were sensitive to a lesser range of sound. Her ear twitched against my hand as she gamely endeavored to detect whatever it was I had noticed amidst a million whispers in the crowd, but she soon shook her head. Unease crept behind me and settled around my shoulders.

Before I could do anything more to react to the insidious noise, I felt a strange warmth in my pocket. A small pinprick of heat that rapidly grew larger until it was painful; my shorts were tight and whatever it was that was burning in my pocket was pressed like a brand to my thigh. Resisting my Sneasel's attempts to continue forward by digging in my heels – she made a puzzled growl in her chest, since I didn't usually try to take charge of walking when she so clearly had it covered – I removed the hand that was on her head and stuck it into my pocket.

Stationary, I closed my fingers around the only object in there, the only thing the heat possibly could have been coming from. Wincing at the pain of holding it, I pulled out the sphere and balanced it on my palm, showing Frost what was causing me so much trouble.

It was her Pokéball, and it was going to burn a hole in my palm.

It was more instinct than conscious thought that made me tip my hand and let the ball fall to the ground, where I distinctly heard the sand hiss, sizzling at the contact. Frost gasped and as I focused on her and on the tendrils of hotness that bathed my feet, I heard overlapping waves of similar sounds washing through the stadium. The tournament-goers seemed to be experiencing the same thing I was – I clearly heard one small child cry out, "Mommy! Batty's ball is too hot!" – and the unease I had felt before morphed into full-blown anxiety.

Then Frost's ball enlarged, making the irritating booting up noise I had come to loathe, and the next thing I knew, it had opened with an echoic snap and Frost's paw was melting in my hand like lukewarm gelatin. "Danu!" she cried in a voice that faded, fright in her tone for the first time today. My fingers groped at the empty air where the Sneasel had been even as I bent to pick up the Pokéball – heat be damned, I wasn't going to keep Frost stuck in her ball when everything was clearly malfunctioning.

If it was possible, the Pokéball was even hotter than it had been, so I tentatively wedged my fingernails behind the button in the middle, thinking that I'd pick up the ball that way and then find something with which to press the trigger. Cursing under my breath at the situation, I had taken one step when the ball flew out of my hand, zooming into the sky like a Noctowl after prey.

Or it would have, if my fingernails had not been jammed between the trigger button and the ball itself. As it was, I was snatched painfully into the air by the ball, my arm aching severely, probably dislocated by the force of the pull. I felt like a rag doll as the wind snapped around my legs and made them swing about, and as I went higher there seemed to be thousands of other Pokéballs ascending as well, pelting my body like scorching hail; I anticipated bruises and slight burns but suspected they would be the least of my problems. Screams from the crowd rose with me.

The end of the terrible flight came abruptly and agonizingly, a vicious jolt as Frost's Pokéball slammed into a large, solid surface; my fingers collapsed into each other with an alarming crunch, and pain lanced across my hand. My fingernails were jarred from their position on Frost's ball, and panic struck me like a blow.

My legs and free arm continued upward with momentum, smashing into the same surface and becoming pinned there by a continuous influx of Pokéballs, and my head crashed into a knobby, unforgiving layer of balls. Even as my tenuous grip on Frost's ball slipped away, I was being pinioned securely on my stomach to the surface by the incoming Pokéballs. They were all still hot but were now bearably so; I would probably end up with singed skin all over but no bad burns. Still, I wanted to cry and call it the fault of the wind rushing over my eyes. I hadn't been in this much pain since the time I had ventured too far into the territory of a Graveler tribe by Blackthorn, and worst of all, I could no longer feel Frost's Pokéball.

A screeching laugh boomed around me, magnified like the announcer's had been. The sound managed to be more frightening than even Frost's battle cry, but my dread was tempered by relief of the whimpering variety as the flood of Pokéballs finally ebbed.

"Hello, peons!" a woman, most likely the cackler, said with a smirk in her voice. "I hope you're enjoying your day at the tournament! After all, it is big news, isn't it? The largest concentration of Pokémon this side of Kanto?"

A male broke in, sniggering: "But Bonnie! It would seem that all of their Pokémon are ours now. Well, Team Rocket extends its sincere apologies for that, doesn't it?"

"Absolutely, Clyde." The woman laughed again, and an engine started up somewhere, sending powerful vibrations through the surface on which I was trapped and making all of my injuries – my possibly dislocated shoulder, various burns and bruises, a few cracked bones, and maybe a concussion to judge from the persistent ache of my head – throb with pain. "Team Rocket could not be sorrier."

The man concluded, with a tone of finality, "Well, that's about it. We'll be going now. Thank you for the donation of all of your Pokémon!"

And that _was_ about it. A few seconds after he finished talking, and as the outraged shouts of the crowd were building to staggering proportions, I began to rise again with the Pokéballs. Team Rocket was making its getaway with its loot, and I was apparently going along for the ride, as unable to free my battered self as I was to free Frost.

A tear slipped down my cheek, and I could not find it in me to blame it on the snapping wind.


End file.
